Lips of an Angel
by SuperOreoMan
Summary: Christine, mesmerized by the Phantom's voice, cannot bring herself to remove his mask at the end of Don Juan Triumphant. Instead, she agrees to his proposal, and is swept into his realm of Night. Unfortunately, the lovers don't manage to escape unscathed.
1. Chapter 1

**Yet another movie obsession has inspired me (after I watched it last weekend!), and I just HAD to write a story about it. Take THAT AP English and AP US History homework! ! !**

**This is at the end of **_**Don Juan Triumphant. **_**It just makes me so MAD that she ripped his mask off! And the audience wouldn't have been able to see his face from that far away anyway…grrr…**

**I don't own Phantom of the Opera...which is why I'm on FanFiction writing about it.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>As the music died from the finish of the Finale, the Phantom's embrace tightened around me, as if he was afraid of letting me go. I froze as he began singing in a soft, hypnotic tenor, but couldn't help relaxing into him at the sound of his angelic voice.<p>

_"__Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,  
><em>_Lead me safely from my solitude.  
><em>_Say you want me with you here, beside you..." _

I turned to face him when he moved away from me. Grabbing my hands, he suddenly swept forward to close the gap, and continued singing passionately.

_"Anywhere you go, let me go too.  
><em>_Christine, that's all I ask of...you!"_

The Phantom's rich tone resonated around the room and through my body. I was pressed against him now, his chest heaving from the effort of the last verse, and mine breathless in awe.

"_Yes_," I whispered once I was able to draw a breath.

His eyes shone beneath the mask, and his perfect lips swerved into a smile of utter delight. He pulled me closer—if possible—and I was swept up into a kiss. Warmth coursed through my body, dispersing then lingering wherever we touched.

The audience erupted into applause, obviously believing this was a part of the act. The subtle buzz of their ovation was barely perceptible through our embrace until he pulled away. His face turned from mine as he beamed at the spectators, radiating satisfaction at his feat, but our bodies never shifted.

As the noise began to subside, I could hear frantic shouting over the applause. The Phantom's grip tightened around me, but he leaned away to search for the commotion. Our eyes seemed to find it at the same time; Raoul had left his box and was yelling to the soldiers stationed around the auditorium, pointing furiously towards the stage.

"Raoul, _no!_" I cried, stumbling away from the Phantom and towards my fiancé.

I leaned over the railing of the scaffolding, screaming to Raoul, begging him to listen to me. One of the soldiers cocked his gun and aimed it where we stood. Several other soldiers followed suit, and there was an uproar when the audience realized that the weapons were ready to fire. Shrill screams lit the air, and the spectators scattered away from the guns like frenzied ants. Fear paralyzed me when I realized that the rifles were intended not for _us_, but just for _him_.

A shot rang out, then a second; each echoed by a chorus of silence, before the hall broke out into terrified cries and shrieks. I leapt in front of my Phantom, preventing any harm from coming to him. A hand grasped me roughly, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. I held him tightly, feeling the sense of urgency in his movements as he struck the boards we stood upon with his foot.

Suddenly the world was rushing upward, throwing my skirts into a billowing flurry, until everything was swallowed up into terrifying blackness. I stifled a shriek, closed my eyes, and hugged the Phantom closer. He returned the gesture and quickly adjusted our descent so that when we landed, he broke my fall. We had fallen onto a thick foam padding, but even that didn't stop the wind from being knocked from us both.

I heard the trapdoor we had fallen through slam shut above us, and everything went eerily silent. The darkness became less intimidating as my eyes became accustomed to the dim firelight of the torches lining the walls. As soon as I was able to move, I scrambled off him.

"Christine," he breathed, barely able to speak. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I gasped as soon as I was able. My ridiculous corset wasn't making it easy to take in air, and I collapsed onto the cushion beside him, trying to blink away the glittering darkness spotting my vision.

"What's wrong?" he insisted.

"I can't…It's my—" I tried to speak, but couldn't seem to catch my breath.

He seemed to understand, and gently but urgently reached beneath my chemise and began untying my excessively-tightened corset. Once it was undone I breathed deeply, letting the oxygen purge my sight of any imperfections. He removed my corset completely, but didn't remove his hands from my waist. I turned my head to look at him as warmth flooded my skin at his touch, lingering in my cheeks as well as my waist where his hands rested. A tender smile graced his lips as my eyes met his glassy ones, and I couldn't help but return it.

He sat up, cringing in what must have been pain as he got to his feet. Holding my corset against himself with one hand, he offered me the other, which I graciously accepted. I tried not to put too much weight into it, but he grimaced a little as I stood.

"Thank you," I said gratefully.

"You're very welcome," he replied in his deep, velvety voice.

He stepped closer to me, his eyes flickering once from me to the floor and back again. He seemed about to say something, when suddenly the sound of harsh voices bounced through the stone corridors. Bringing the hand that held mine to his face, he pressed his finger to his lips, before delicately kissing my hand and leading me down a lighted hallway. I traipsed along behind him, barely able to keep up with his wide gate without running. The labyrinth of tunnels was already lost on me, and I blindly followed my guide toward our destination; his home.

As he led me into the boat at the water's edge, I almost expected him to start singing, urging me to join in, and when he didn't I felt a pang of sadness. He was still holding my corset, clutching it close to his chest as though it was the only thing keeping him alive. Because his other hand was occupied, he had only one arm to propel the boat with, and we were taking a jagged, uneven path down the channel.

"Here," I offered, gesturing toward the corset. "I'll take it."

He just shook his head, continuing the slow and unsteady strokes toward his dwelling. Sweat was beginning to collect on his brow, and his limbs were shaking with the effort. I narrowed my eyes. This had been so easy for him the first time I'd come down here—if my silly little swatch of clothing was straining him this much, why wouldn't he allow me to help? Or at least set it down?

"Please, let me," I urged, reaching forward to take it.

"No!" he snapped, his voice rasping.

I recoiled as though I'd been slapped, which is what it had felt like—a verbal blow.

"I'm sorry—I just—"

"No, Christine," he interrupted my apology gently. "_I _am sorry."

We rounded a corner in silence, the sight of where he lived taking my breath away yet again. The word _Lair_ came to mind, but I dismissed it—a lair was where a monster or beast would live. This was no lair, but it didn't seem like the home of a human, either. There were candles everywhere, illuminating the rich red fabrics of the many curtains draped over walls and doorways and mirrors—casting flickering shadows across the cracks and crevasses of the cavernous walls. The rippling water reflected the dancing candlelight, sending sparks of light twinkling across the walls.

He docked the modest vessel, pausing to take several long, shaky breaths, and then stepped onto the stone floor. Using the staff he had drawn the boat with, he pulled himself onto the cavern floor before reaching back and offering his hand to me. I carefully took it, and he clasped his clammy fingers around my comparably tiny hand to pull me up to him. He teetered forward slightly, then gathered his strength and heaved me onto land.

Under his arm he still held my corset. As I gazed at the white bodice clutched beneath his similarly white knuckles, my thoughts were permeated with a feeling of dread. He didn't move, and when I met his glassy eyes, his pallid face was in stark contrast to the dark mask he wore.

A hand flew forward, grasping my arm in a steely grip, and the Phantom collapsed, his knees giving out below him.

"Oh!" I gasped as his weight dragged me down. I couldn't support him, but I was just able to stop his head from cracking to the ground. His eyes rolled back and his body went limp in my arms.

As I held his head in my lap, frantically trying to wake him up, I felt something sticky seep onto my dress—blood. Realizing that it was coming from his chest, I slowly peeled back the corset with an unsteady hand. I gaped at the large, red blot staining his shirt in dismay, and shakily pulled back the fabric, praying that I was wrong, that he hadn't been—

"No," I whispered numbly, staring at the terrible bullet wound marring his left shoulder.

My Angel had been shot.

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><p><strong>Okay, so this was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but my mind kind of took a different approach than I'd planned...<strong>

**Review—Criticism welcome!—and let me know what you think! Should I continue? Or leave it at this wonderous cliffhanger? **

**Your Pal,**

**SuperOreoMan**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was just playing Bookworm Adventures, and all I needed was a Y to spell "Revolutionary"! Do you know how many points I would've gotten for that? A LOT. And I was sooooo close, but then the lion thing killed me. Now I am sad :( **

**Anyway, I got a nice response for a first chapter, so thanks to those of you who reviewed! I _probably _wouldn't have left it at that, but…with SuperOreoMan, you never know ;)**

**This chapter's short. I really have no idea where this is going, so I'll just start writing and see where we end up! The song in there is to the tune of _Music of the Night. _You know, it's kinda weird inserting random songs…we'll see how it goes.**

**When we last left our lyrical lovers, one was dying and the other was like "Holy crap, he's dying!"**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>I didn't know what to do. My mind was a blank slate—all knowledge of what I should do in a situation such as this was withdrawing into the recesses of my memories as panic invaded.<p>

I wanted to call his name, to urge him into consciousness so he could tell me what to do; but the aching reality was that I didn't even _know_ it. _Angel_ or simply _Phantom _didn't seem intimate enough for what could be his last—

I dismissed the thought with a shake of my head. He would _not _die, I would make sure of that. My intelligence slowly returned, and I tried to steady my hands as I unbuttoned his shirt. They continued to quiver, trembling so violently that I finally had to stop fumbling with the buttons and just tear the shirt open.

The wound was ghastly, though it had almost stopped bleeding. I didn't know if that was a good sign; did it mean his body was healing, or that he had little blood left to spill? The bullet hadn't gone all the way through, but I had no idea if I should attempt to remove it or not. I was repulsed at the idea, unable to even bring myself to examine the inside of the injury, and decided that doing anything myself was far too risky.

However, I couldn't go in search of help; he was a wanted man, a criminal. I couldn't just leave him here, either, because what if someone were to find him, delicate and vulnerable, before I returned? Or if he didn't _survive_ long enough for my return?

I quickly folded his shirt and pressed it over the damaged area. From the minimal medical experience I had, I thought I was supposed to clean the wound, but the only things to have touched it were his shirt and my corset—both were clean. Besides, I had no idea where I could even find fresh water, and I wasn't taking the chance of using the unnaturally green-tinted water swirling only an arm's length away.

_Now what? _I thought dismally. There was no way fro me to move him by myself, and my mind was still too muddled for me to think straight, so I lay beside him, my thoughts a wild tangle.

Why hadn't he said anything? Why hadn't he just told me he'd been shot? We could have gone directly to a physician and avoided all of this. Instead, he was unconscious, and I was terrified for his life.

And why had he been shot in the first place? It was part of the plan to arrest him, I know, but I had no idea Raoul was planning _this. _He had convinced me the armed soldiers were for the audience's and my protection; nothing more.

And finally, where were the people we had heard back in the room we had dropped into? They were in the pursuit of the Phantom, I was sure, but they seemed to have just disappeared. Straining my ears for any sounds of someone that might have followed us underground, I heard only the hushed murmur of the flowing water over my own breathing.

Looking back at his face, I saw that his mask was coming off. I reached forward to push it back into place but stopped myself. I carefully pulled it back, exposing the imperfect side of his face, and gently touched it, caressing the flaw he was so distraught by. He was beautiful, and while the blemish was conspicuous, it was a part of him, and made him who he was.

Forlornly, I restored the mask to his face. It was a barrier to shield him from the rest of the world—and now from me. I knew he felt exposed without it, which is why he'd lashed out when I had removed it. But I had understood; I had felt his anguish, resentment, anger, remorse…

And I started singing.

_"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,  
><em>_Darkness weaves a complex fabrication.  
><em>_Still, I wish you'd wake, tell me what move I should make,  
><em>_Promise me you that you will somehow be all right,  
><em>_So we can sing the Music of the Night."_

Unshed tears blurred my vision, and I blinked them away. He wasn't dying, and he _would_n't die. I reached over and laid my head on his chest, far away from his wound, and listened to his feeble pulse. It didn't seem to help.

_"Faintly, weakly, your heart's beat is daunting,  
><em>_Swift and shallow breathing, almost taunting.  
><em>_Please, God, end this game! I haven't yet learned his name!  
><em>_Let him live at least to see tomorrow's light;  
><em>_Revive him with the Music of the Night."_

He stirred beneath me and I drew back to watch him. His breaths became deeper, his pulse stronger, and his eyes waged a battle beneath his lids, as though his thoughts were troubled. He looked like he could be waking, so I continued my song more compellingly than before.

_"Let my words carry into your unconscious mind,  
><em>_Let this music heal both your heart and soul.  
><em>_Our lives are everlastingly entwined…  
><em>_Without you, my life cannot be—" _

_"—whole," _he harmonized with me in a fragile hum. His eyes fluttered open, and he wearily turned his head to meet my gaze. "Don't stop," he whispered.

_"__Floating, falling, sweet intoxication," _I began softly.

_"Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation," _he continued, lifting a hand to stroke my face. I joined him, our complementary voices extended by the rich echoes off the cavern's walls.

_"Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in…"_

_"To the power of the music that I write," _he sang alone. Even in his critical state, his voice was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. I laced his melody with my own, and we continued our duet.

_"The power of the music of the night.  
>You alone can make my song take flight,<br>Help me make the music of the night."_

"Christine?" a voice breathed from only several yards away.

I turned toward the new voice, ready to either jump to my Phantom's defense or ask the newcomer for help, faltering when I realized it was Raoul.

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><p><strong>Oh snap, another cliffy.<strong>

**Alright, so there's some singin' in there…it was a hassle, I didn't enjoy doing it…**

**Okay, maybe I did a _little _;) I'm actually very happy with how the song turned out. (My own lyrics, by the way, except the last stanza-y thing)**

**I was gonna try and have a cute little back-and-forth singin' thing, but the format doesn't work on FanFiction, and it looked stupid without it, so I cut it. It was great though...**

**Anyway, lemme know what you think! I seriously have noooo idea where this is going now, so suggestions are welcome. What should Raoul do? What should happen next? SUGGEST THINGS!**

**Your Pal,**

**SuperOreoMan**


	3. Chapter 3

** Your reviews were very inspiring. Thanks to those of you who did… and sorry this took so long to get out, I've been busy.**

** Here they are again…except this time with Raoul! The song in this chapter is to the music of _All I Ask of You_.**

** Enjoy!**

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><p>"Raoul?" I replied, surprised. "How did you—?"<p>

"Christine!" he exclaimed. He was standing in the water, completely soaked, and made his way toward me with lethargic, sloshing steps.

I glanced downward at my silent Phantom; he had either fallen unconscious, or was feigning it well.

Raoul heaved himself onto dry ground and started toward us again. He must not have heard our singing just moments before, because when he saw the wounded man before me, he froze and his eyes widened. I tensed—how would he react to our being together? Would he be angry? Heartbroken? Accepting?

"Was—Is he—?" he whispered, his eyes darting between the Phantom and me. He swallowed. "Did you…?"

"No!" I cried, shaking my head earnestly as I realized that he thought _I_ had done this to my Angel. I gestured to the wound on his chest. "He was shot."

"Oh," Raoul replied. His pallor lightened a shade, but his expression hardened. "Well…good. He was a murderer."

"No, Raoul, he's still alive!"

"He is?"

"Yes! We have to—"

"Don't worry, Christine," he broke in. He took my hand, pulled me to my feet, and looked into my eyes. "I'll protect you."

As I was swept into an unexpected kiss, I stiffened. This wasn't right. Raoul's hug should have been comforting, but it was as though the arms that ought to console me were confining me instead. The embrace that had offered solace just hours before suddenly felt wrong and adulterous. Finally he pulled away, staring into my eyes with an uncomfortable intensity.

"I'll send for the constable," he said, softly stroking my hair.

My eyes widened. "What? No!"

"You would rather see him left for dead?" he inquired with a furrowed brow.

"He's as good as dead if you turn him in!"

"That…_thing_ is a _monster_, Christine! He's murdered—killed innocent people, in cold blood!"

"But I _love _him!"

Raoul's face became blank as my confession echoed in the cavern, reiterating the words he couldn't have misheard.

"You…_love_…him?" he repeated slowly.

I could only nod, afraid of his reaction.

Hurt blossomed across his face, making his eyes shimmer in the candlelight. He looked down at my chest, where our engagement ring hung like a counterweight* around my neck. I fingered the jewelry nervously, waiting for him to say _anything_. When he didn't, I tried to explain myself.

"I do love you, Raoul," I murmured, reaching back and fumbling with the clasp. "It's just…" I struggled to remove the necklace, and his steady hands caught my clumsy ones and guided them. Once it was off, I dropped the necklace into his hand. "…different."

I gazed up at him, waiting for him to speak. His eyes were guarded, staring at the ring in his hand silently for a moment before he regarded me with an unreadable expression. He looked away from me again, staring at the abandoned betrothal ring in silence.

"Please," I begged, "say something."

He closed his eyes. "What do you want me to say?" he asked imperceptibly after several moments of silence.

"_Anything_," I pleaded. "That you forgive me. That you hate me. Just…_something._"

He grimaced and closed his eyes. "Christine, I could _never _hate you. I just…don't understand. I thought…"

My eyes burned as I fought tears. Raoul's sparkled in the dim light before a single drop fell silently to the cold, unforgiving floor. I knew what he thought; he thought that I loved him as much as he loved me, he thought we would get married, and have children, and leave this whole "Phantom" mess behind. I felt terrible. I had told him that I loved him, and led him to believe that we would be together. Even _I _had thought we would be.

He began singing softly,

_"We used to be in love,  
><em>_A love certain and strong."_

Raoul stepped toward me suddenly and pulled me into a tender, desperate embrace, and finished his verse while holding me close.

_ "Christine, is all that behind you?  
><em>_Do you not feel as I do?"_

In a fleeting pause, he drew me away from him to study my expression with glistening eyes. My throat felt thick as I swallowed, and I felt a hot tear escape and roll down my cheek. Raoul took another slow step backward as he continued his heart wrenching melody with a teetering voice.

"_I thought we were in love,  
><em>_But now I see I'm wrong.  
><em>_And there's nothing I can do—"_

_ "I never meant to hurt you,"_ I murmured softly into his song, but it didn't just _fit in _as it used to when we sang together. Just like with his kiss, singing with Raoul no longer felt right.

He looked at me sadly, and I wondered if he felt it too. I almost wished he would be angry with me, instead of this terrible hurt sadness that seemed to be radiating from him. Raoul's pain pierced my very soul. It was horrible, especially knowing that I was the sole cause of it. He moved on to the next verse quietly, without even a hint of accusation in his words—just anguish and misery.

_ "You said you would share one love, one lifetime,  
><em>_But it seems that it was not with me.  
><em>_Why'd you promise so much just to leave me?  
><em>_Why'd you let me fall for you, Christine?  
><em>_I loved you—that's all you asked of me."_

His lyrics never became angry, accusatory, or even heated. His song was just remorseful and heartrending. The tears were falling freely from my eyes now—I'd broken his heart. He turned away from me, sniffed, and wiped his moistened eyes before any more tears could spill over.

"I'm so sorry, Raoul," I whispered. "I did love you—I still do, but…"

"You love _him_."

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, wishing there was more I could say.

He turned around with crossed arms. "How do you know? What if it's just his voice, Christine, _again?_ These might not be your feelings. You were afraid of it happening."

"No, Raoul, this time is different," I tried to explain. I couldn't imagine my life without the Phantom in it. Even when I had pictured my life with Raoul, my Angel of Music has always etched himself into my thoughts of our future together. He was always there, a part of my life, and I knew that he always would be. He _had _to be. "I love him. I always have."

Hurt flashed across Raoul's face for a moment before he composed himself. The Phantom stirred at the sound of my voice, but didn't wake. Raoul's eyes flicked down to my unconscious Phantom, to me, to the water behind us. Suddenly, the faint sounds of the searchers' shouting echoed into the grotto, but only for a moment. My heartbeat quickened, but they seemed to have headed in the wrong direction. After silence fell once more, a thought seemed to cross Raoul's mind, and his eyes darted back to the Phantom.

"No, Raoul!" I gasped, stepping between him and my Angel fearfully as I imagined what he must be considering. "Please, you can't!"

"Can't what?" he demanded. "Finish him off? Turn him in?"

"Raoul, please," I begged.

His eyes flashed with chagrin, and he took a step toward us.

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><p><strong>I hope these lyrics were satisfying.<strong>

**Hopefully the next chapter will be out **_**much**_** sooner that this one was. Like maybe in the next few weeks? Of course, reviews **_**do **_**always help me work faster…**

**Your Pal,**

**SuperOreoMan**

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><p><strong>*Counterweights are the ridiculously heavy weights they use backstage to balance the rigging (ropes—for liftinglowering backdrops and stuff). I was on tech crew for the plays/musicals at my school, so I know a bunch of cool little tidbits like that. They aren't that big, but they weigh a freaking _ton_. I smashed my finger between two once DX. You stack 'em on the….you know what, if you care, just google "rigging counterweight".**


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